Wednesday 25 August 2010

North to South in Europe

Stewart, Katherine, Cindy, Don, Kendy, Janice, Bill, Rick
It was fun sailing into Piazza San Marco on a boat after ditching our bikes in Punto Sabbione, drinking Prosecco supplied by Rudolph and eating fine soft cheese, bread, olives, peaches, prosciutto and tomatoes. Group photos all round, hugs and felicitations. A fine way to end a north to south bike ride on a hot Italian morning.

I was sorry to depart Slovenia with its hills, picturesque villages, cheap beers, friendly people, creamy cold ice cream and polite drivers. Well, most of them anyway. Should anyone wish to convince their city or town to adopt bicycle friendly conditions, a trip to Ljubljana would be recommended where at first hand, city officials can see how it is possible for the bike to coexist peacefully and seamlessly with cars and pedestrians. For a city of 250,000 they really have it together.

Crossing the border also meant we were reunited with the sea, so a dip in the Adriatic was called for. We left it a bit late to walk down to the beach so it had to be a paddle instead, but it was coolly refreshing. Miss Piggot, god bless her, immersed her entire body having had the good sense to don her bathers before the descent. An ice cream and a friendly bus driver who transported us back up the hill at no cost, completed a satisfying day.

Even though most of Italy is beautiful, TDA managed to select a route for our last two days that was so boring we all would have fallen asleep at the handlebars if it hadn't been for the ferocious traffic. Corn fields, soy beans, flat straight roads and green algae ridden canals. Didn't seem to accord with my recollections of Umbrian hills and gelato fragola.

Venezia proved hot, humid and crowded. I liked it very much but could understand that others found it suffocating and somewhat claustrophobic. We walked, hopped onto vaporettos and visited Murano to see lumps of molten silica transformed into horses and the like, and enjoy a 'Menu Turistica' that was so good, sitting by a breezy canal, that it should have been bottled. Allora.

Our hotel, the Villa Alberti, also did a grand farewell meal, albeit the unofficial one. The official dinner was held in a stuffy restaurant where the 50gm of fried chicken which most mistook for ...well, fish perhaps...tasted...well, like nothing...as did the tortellini. The wine was little more than dyed cat's piss but that did not stop me for a moment. Still, what more could we expect from good old TDA.

The awards however were funny, with much work having gone into them by George, Kris and Katherine. I was thrilled to receive the 'Miss Congeniality' award until someone mentioned that this award is always part of the Miss America Pageant and goes to the ugly one who raises the most money. Oh well...

I feel great after my six weeks on the bike. I have been to places I would never have otherwise travelled to and developed an interest that will linger. I have made friends whom I cherish and have plans for my next trip. I am relaxed, energised and ready for the next chapter.

And so, here is my last lot of riding data which in total amounted to 3,414kms on the bike.
Thursday 19 August to Sistiana: 106kms, 5hrs 55 mins, 17.8 average. Lots of hills, in fact we climbed four long passes through the mountains which is always better that climbing over them.
Friday 20 August to Caorle: 94km, 22.6 average, 4hrs 8 mins. Flat, straight, dull.
Saturday 21 August to Punto Sabbione: 42km, 22 average, 1hr 54mins

Tuesday 17 August 2010

Breakfast in Slovakia, Morning Tea in Austria, Dinner in Hungary

Nini eyes off Katherine's Apfel Strudel
And so it went on the day we left Bratislava for our six day cycling tour of Slovakia, Austria, Hungary and Slovenia. Of course the best was Austria - half a kilo of apple strudel served with vanilla custard in the company of at least fifteen other riders. Oh how those plates were licked. Hungary was a bit of a let down except for being reunited with the man on the 100 HUF note, of course. It is hard to believe that by the act of crossing an imaginary line - a border - life can be be experienced in a  wholly different way.

The Europeans really know how to turn on a storm as several nights in a row we have been buffeted and blown, thundered on and lit up by garish flashes chasing across the sky night after night. Waking sodden and grisly ready for another one of TDA's breakfasts of mixed cereal, dry bread and fruit has not quite hit the spot. Unfortunately I will not be able to participate in further camping as I binned my tent last night in favour of a mattress in the loft as the much mended front pole finally gave up the ghost. I was able to distribute all my high quality tent pegs though, which pleased me enormously.

A highlight was riding with Michael and Brian on the wet day when we ascended to Jerusalem, arriving in camp at 11am after a thrillingly fast ride. Kendy, Katherine and I were able to hold the pace having been fortified by an aromatherapy mud pack applied immediately prior to the storm that left our tents swimming in a sudden lake. We figured that beauty always beats speed...the little girl who witnessed our preparations is doubtless scarred for life as she reported to her mummy that there were ghosts in the bathroom.

Slovenia is chocolate box perfect - mountain peaks, meadows mowed to Wimbledon standards, quintessentially cute villages dotted on hillsides and a plethora of colour and window box treatments. It seems by far the most prosperous country we have visited, with the exception of Austria of course. Although in the villages there are still the old and infirm present, patiently raking hay and tending to chooks, and a lot of men sitting in bars drinking beer and smoking cigarettes as we ride by at 7am. Obviously the tobacco companies are still doing good business in this part of the world, as are the hops producers as we have ridden past acres and acres of hops climbing to the sky.

I am not sure where my head was yesterday as I pulled into camp and stood in awe of the ring of mountains circling us. A sensible person may have worked out that climbing would be required to get out - not me - so this morning's 23km climb came as somewhat of a surprise. The gradient proved largely benevolent so a warm beignet straight from wherever they come from enjoyed at the top with a magnificent view over the peaks and valleys, made it all better instantly.

I have already mosied around Ljubljana, having arrived at 10am and not able to access our rooms until 2pm. It seems like a very pretty city with lots of action. The castle imposes on the skyline and affords a generous view of the 250,000 inhabitants, their buildings, river and roads.


Another set of hill-filled metrics if you are still tuned in.
Thursday 12 August to Balf Sopron: 96km, 18.2 average, TITS 5hrs 16mins
Friday 13 August to Szombothely: 77km, 17.8 average, TITS 4hrs 21mins - hills of course as the max I attained was 56.4kmh!
Saturday 14 August to Moravce Toplice: 95km, 19.6 average, TITS 4hrs 48mins
Sunday 15 August to Ptuj:  73kms, 21.2 average, TITS 3hrs 25mins - rained but we rode with the fast Aussies and got there almost before we left.
Monday 16 August to Prebold: 94km, 18.7 average, TITS 5hrs.
Tuesday 17 August to Lublijana: 66km, 20.2 average, 3hrs 15mins


News flash! Just to hand...
Hot competition
Australia won bronze in the Hand Stand in Small Slovenian Pool Competition, narrowly pipped at the post by the USA - gold - and  Canada - silver. The Australian team was a little disabled on account of Don and myself who floated to the surface like so much flotsam (we're the ones to the left of the picture), although Brian's Campanolga-branded legs stood proudly to attention and were awarded the best vertical legs of any individual competitor.


Wednesday 11 August 2010

How I got to ride in the Tour de Pologna

The water bottle bonanza
The day we rode out of Krakow was full of surprises. The first surprise was hills - long upwardly sloping bastards of hills that got bigger and steeper as the morning progressed. As you may know, hills are not my natural forte, nature intending me for more leisurely pursuits such as sumo wrestling or darts, perhaps.

The second surprise was coming across Gloria and Bob half way up a slope, Gloria complaining of chest and arm pains. Stewart and I waited with them until TDA was alerted and able to take appropriate action for Gloria to attend a medical facility. (Gloria spent several days in hospital undergoing tests and has now re-joined us in Bratislava.)

The third surprise was lunch where we were nearly blown away as a tremendous storm blew in bringing with it copious amounts of rain. Stewart and I sheltered in a bus stop, along with countless Poles, and while there entertained ourselves attempting to read a sign that had been recently affixed to the glass interior. From this we deduced that the Tour de Pologna, no less, would be passing through in an hour or two. Laughing like drains we remounted and sallied forth, soon nodding and smiling at the ever increasing number of young - and old  - men dressed in black firemen's uniforms who lined the route. As we progressed, small crowds gathered and some even took our photos as they cheered and clapped us on. Finally the time came when two fast motorbikes whizzed past and waved us off the road. By this time George and Monique had caught up, having been lost earlier in the day, so we took up positions on the verge and waited.

The first eight riders zoomed through, then far back and below we could see a snaking procession of support vehicles, police and more motorbikes, followed by the peloton. Amid wild cheers I managed to keep my feet as more than a hundred fit young men rushed past, wheel to wheel, bristling at about 45kmh I suppose, a speed I only dream of.

But the fun was only just beginning. Monique spotted a water bottle being thrown, so then the hunt was on. We all managed to score water bottles discarded by various team members. Mine is a Caisse d'Epargne. Brian advised me not to wash it, just fill it with water, as the residual EPO would help me the next day on the hills.

Eleven hours later we rolled into yet another third world camping spot, elated by a day of climbing, distance, weather and souvenir water bidons. What more could a girl want?

The next day  - and the next and the next - we climbed into the Slovakian mountains having crossed the border late the day before - we were high in the low Tartras or low in the high Tartras, not sure which, but I do know we were HIGH. The views were spectacular even if climbing for 6 or so kms at a time was more than I bargained for. Climbs were followed in part by swooping descents, and altogether we gained 750 metres nett during the day.

Some days we followed rivers that were flowing with us, other days they flowed against us, meaning of course the inevitable climbing. Highlights included two caramel deer that sprang startled from the side of the road and afforded us a glimpse of superb animal muscle in motion.

Town names changed from four or five consonants in a row as per Polish custom to more manageable titles like Sucha Hora, apparently reminding Brian of one of his former girlfriends. We also passed through a number of Horny villages, so the theme seemed to be set. One night we spent in a gorgeous mining village - Banska Stiavanko - even more surprising was that TDA picked up the tab for a guest house. The town's monument erected by the good civic folks many years ago to celebrate being spared by the Plague was commanding in both its size and materials used. A similar monument in Bratislava is much more modest.

Our second talent show was held in perhaps the worst camping ground we have been in but the sheer talent on display raised everyone's spirits as we roared with laughter and rocked in pleasure as those with beautiful voices sang to us. Ralph 'Gorgeous' Monfort was a fine MC, the two Ronnies (George and Stewart) brought us world updates from Radio BULL and a three act drama captivated the audience with its plot twists and turns. An all round good evening that followed a quiet day of only 78km of climbing followed by rolling hills and farmlands.

Then into Bratislava. Route was fine but busy with trucks and cars, day was fine and sunny and the corn crops seemed endless. About 10km prior to the city I rode through what I thought was a puddle which turned out to be a huge break away in the road surface, so I have now scored my first fall with subsequent minor grazing and bruising. Nothing to rival Ron though, who decided to take on a car in a village and has more cuts and marks to add to those from his previous falls.

Bratislava has developed significantly since I was last here on the Orient Express trip. Lots of cafes and places under the shade to enjoy food and wine, but unfortunately the prices have progressed to match the increasing sophistication.

The trip to Auschwitz wasn't as harrowing as I thought it might be, there being on display tonnes of human hair, hundreds of thousands of shoes, suitcases, toothbrushes, hairbrushes and other belongings of those who were killed there. Birkenau, or Auschwitz II,  was also a huge facility with the train lines running a kilometre from the camp gates to the gas chambers and ovens. Just before the Russians arrived, the Germans bombed the chambers in an attempt to be rid of the evidence. Cruelty, organised and mechanically efficient, on a mammoth scale. It is a just reminder of the importance of thinking about the consequences of what one does, and having the courage to speak and question. It would appear that the work of millions of people, whether they thought through the consequences of their actions or not, must have contributed to the ethnic cleansing that occurred in Europe during the Second World War.

That evening a few of us went to the Jewish quarter in Krakow and enjoyed a delicious meal as well as a three piece klezmer band. It rivalled the chamber orchestra performance of the evening before which I attended in a tiny 11th century church that once stood 7 metres higher than it does now, on account of the layers of garbage and cobbles that have been added to the city over centuries.

The Amber Route continues but we have now lost the thousands of shops and street vendors selling amber products. This has not saddened me one bit. So tomorrow we saddle up for six days as we weave through Hungary and Austria into Slovenia. It is making the anticipation of today's 90 minute Thai massage that much sweeter.

Facts and Figures if you're into that sort of thing:
Friday August 6 to Oravice: 127kms, 17 average, 7hrs 25mins TITS, great day's riding with the Tour!
Saturday August 7 to Turany Truslava: 86kms, 18 average, 54 max, 4hrs 46mins TITS - lovely scenic day with crisp mountain air as we whizzed past ski slope after ski slope
Sunday August 8 to Banska Stiavanko: 112kms, 17.3 average, 6hrs 19mins TITS
Monday August 9 to Jelenec: 78kms, 17.3 average, 4hrs 29mins, 51 max, huge switchback descent
Tuesday August 10 to Bratislava: 119kms, 21.1 average, 5hrs 35mins

Wednesday 4 August 2010

Cut and Polish

Warsaw has been 90% rebuilt after WWII by the Russians in the main, the old city being built in the style it was before. The result is very pleasing to the eye with a mix of lovely European architecture blending with the cobbled streets, expansive squares, lush gardens and modern tourism. We cycled out of Warsaw on the morning of Sunday 1st August, just as the celebrations were getting started for the 1944 commemoration of the uprising in the Jewish ghetto which effectively sent the Nazis packing. Only trouble was, the Russians stayed.

Riding out was also exciting because the Tour de Polgna was being set up so we got to ride along the route and encourage the workers to cheer. Fortunately some milling crowds of drunken youths who had enjoyed a BIG Saturday night came to the party and yelled and chanted as if there was no tomorrow. Riding under the finish line was exhilarating - I've always wanted to fist the air a la Cancelarra and his mates, and I got to do it.

Polish youth are globally recognisable: mobile phone clutched in hand, back-to-front baseball cap on head, earphones plugged into ears, legs clad in jeans - skinny and otherwise, visible tattoos and piercings, long straight blonded or streaked hair and stupid shoes for the girls, just like everywhere. Rural youth were hard to spot, country areas mainly the province of old people scratching the hay with rakes or feeding chooks or doing the milking. All the old folks ride bikes, laden with shopping, milk crates, walking sticks - anything they need. The young people who were around passing summer holidays in languorous boredom, seemed to bear the mark of western overweight as they slumped off from the sklepas (shops) carrying plastic bags crammed with Coca Cola, slurping on the ubiquitous Magnum ice cream.

Things are a deal more prosperous south of Warsaw. No muddy villages with down at heel houses and falling down barns, instead huge modern houses as neat as a pin, imposing stone fences behind which are parked modern vehicles. Every household has at least one dog, sometimes three or four, plus cats and kittens. Pigeon fancying also seems to be popular.

We have continued to enjoy out-of-the-way camping grounds with blissfully luxurious facilities. The hotels are well up in the one and a half star category but the dinners have been bloody good. Lots of salads, fresh flavours and sound portions of protein. Brekkie and lunch can be a bit boring, but we have enjoyed some good tuna and egg mayonnaise combinations for lunch. Apart from Stewart's bullet wound, we have also had a severely scalded thigh, an infected foot, a hernia, a suspected broken collarbone and two seriously twisted ankles. Quite enough for Doctor Nini.

Krakow is original in architecture, a bit Viennese perhaps, with double trams rattling along busy boulevards. Today I am partaking in a walking tour of the city and tomorrow it's a bus to Auschwitz - dunno how far I will venture but the bus ride sounds comfortable. It is lovely to have two full days in which to rest and read, plus half a day yesterday after we arrived, especially before the onslaught of five days in hilly terrain.

I would like to leave you with my personal best to date: 290 kms in 2 days. Here's the rest of the facts:
Sunday August 1 to Smardzewice : 145km, 21.1km, 6hrs 49mins average holiday until past 2am
Monday August 2 to Bobolice: 145 km, 20.1 km average7hrs 10 mins, a two Mars Bars and two Powerades sort of a day as the sun beat down and the hills lengthened and grew in stature with the last 14 kms too much and too long for me, but I made it
Tuesday August 3 to Krakow: 94km, 18 kmh average, 5hrs, a most beautiful limestone valley  with a burbling brook that we followed for 20 superb kilometres - a guided ride into the city, an all round good day despite the many slow long climbs of the morning

Saturday 31 July 2010

Miss Simpson and Miss Pigott go orienteering in the Polish countryside

I want you to think of rain - huge slabs of sheeting rain. Think of it thundering onto the roof of your third-world cabin which has come complete with bedbugs and mould and not much else, and getting up in the morning to stand under the drip line of the gazebo to spoon ersatzt muesli down your throat before mounting a sodden silver fox and retracing 6 kms of now muddy sandy wet puddly gravel back to the main road to make a left and head for another god-forsaken camp ground.

Well, that's the scene. Head down, rain jacket on, rain teeming all around, and I miss the first turn at the 14 km mark. Fortunately Katherine Pigott is with me, as it is more enjoyable I find to wander aimlessly round the Polish countryside sans map, sans compass, in company. Especially Miss Pigott, with whom I have been enjoying a Tour de France type commentary pretty much from day 1. As she pointed out when I forced half a Snickers bar and a plum down her throat, I was only keeping her alive so as I could beat her mercilessly in future stages.

We stopped motorists - oh, I forgot to mention, neither of us speaks Polish either apart from 'hello' and 'thankyou' - to ask for directions and pen in paper in hand, one man with perfectly odious halitosis wrote the name of every village in Poland it seemed in my notebook. It turned out he was on the money as some hours and villages later we were reunited with the distinctive orange flagging tape that is put out each morning as a navigational aid for us.

Not long after, we saw two bedraggled figures pedalling along. It was the older chaps - a Dutchman and a Canadian German (you can take the man out of Germany but you can't take the German out of the man, if you get my drift). Lost too, we decided to stick together and on turning a corner found a veritable oasis. A wedding reception cum banquet hall.

We parked the bikes,used the WCs and were graciously shown into a terrazzo tiled ballroom and to our table of white clothed chairs where we dined on hot hot soup, pigfat on bread with pickles - also delicious even though it sounds disgusting - Rudi said his mother used to make it when he was a kid - and baked trout with salad. The hi fi was playing 30s jazz, I couldn't resist a short waltz on the floor,then it was back on our bikes again to head for paradise in the form of a bush camp with a toilet block that had not been cleaned since it was erected some time in the early 1960s. Yellow painted plaster flaked off the walls, only one lightglobe worked, mosquitoes were so big that three pairs of my knickers that I hung out to dry were carried off in the night, dogs howled and barked and a screech owl kept screeching. Delightful, as you can imagine. I don't know which guide book TDA uses to source these perfectly horrible camping places, but when I find out I'm intending to purchase every copy and burn them so no other human has to suffer such indignity.

Our idyllic Soviet-style campground
There was a happy ending though: at 100km we phoned and at 110km the truck loomed into sight and picked us up. We were only meant to cycle 110 anyway, and the thought of a further 40 km in the driving head wind was more than I could countenance. On arrival in camp, George and Bill helped me put my tent up - lovely chaps, and we had a jolly good laugh about TDA and its ability to advertise three star accommodation yet provide places that even financially straitened asylum seekers would never use.

We're in Warsaw today and I think I will do the bus/walking tour as I know so little about this city and its people. Dinner in the old town last night - romantic setting and it is even getting dark now at a respectable hour.

Poverty seems to be grinding in rural Poland. Little villages dot the landscape with house cows, chooks and so on. No young people around -the villages are the province of the elderly and infirm it would seem. But churches - that is something money has been spent on. In even the muddiest and poorest of community, some well-constructed edifice to god rises on the skyline. I hope the people enjoy the space when they kneel on Sundays to pay homage. Also, huge statues of the Polish pope are dotted here and there - I thought there was only meant to be one god and no idols but I could have got that wrong.

We have ridden through many woods of pine, birch,oak and mixed trees where the gloom is palpable. One could half expect to see Little Red Riding Hood trotting along. The most I have seen though is another red squirrel which darted across the road in front of me then sat up to look at such a sight - drenched pink-clad bike rider. And of course we have had the talent concert - a hugely funny evening spent in a campground restaurant as the rain fell outside. I loved Professor Rick's take on erratic boulders which some how turned into erotic racks and as I have ridden in front of him on many occasions, I am not sure what to make of such a performance.

Three more days and then a double rest day in Krakow. I am tired. We are half way though today and I seem to have cycled 1787kms so far.

The measurements if you're interested:
26 July to Seirijai: 133 km, 6hr 22 min, 20.8 average - cool day, no head winds and once out of Vilnius a great day's cycling
27 July to Augustow: 88km, 4hr 19min, 20.3average - arrived into village and sat around as our camp was another out of the way place with nothing happening. When I did arrive after a torrential down pour I had to tell some Polish holiday makers to get fucked as they wanted to argue with me about where to put my tent!
28 July to Nowagrod: 131km, 6hr 50mins, 18.3 average, rough, gravel
29 July to Puttusk: lost day 110km, 5hr 30 min, 18.9 average - very damp
30 July to Warsaw: 69 km, 3hr 28 min, 19.6 average - very industrial last 16 kms with poor roads, even poorer footpaths along which we cycled most of the time, and busy busy traffic.

Sunday 25 July 2010

News from the Baltic - Issue 2

Today, Sunday, I am in Vilnius, the capital of  Lithuania. We will cross the border into Poland on Tuesday around lunchtime for the following 11 days. Vilnius is a cobbled old city with picture postcard buildings, twenty squillion churches and shops full of amber, linen and gorgeous hand-knitted socks. Squares are abundant and full of the ubiquitous coloured umbrellas that signify comfortable chairs and perhaps a cold beer. I am pleased to say refrigeration is working more effectively in this country but it still leaves room for improvement.

As you may know, we are in the grip of a heatwave, riding in temperatures of 34 degrees plus, yesterday getting to 40. Unseasonable but better than rain. Thunderstorms have threatened, but beyond a few drops we have been dry on the outside of not on the inside of our tents which drip with condensation every morning. Not to mention the litres and litres of water that is passing through us.

Camp life is high on camaraderie and low on facilities but at least we have had lakes to jump into at the end of our day's riding. I am a little tired of the stinking drop toilet and the lack of any place to purchase a drink or snack as we usually camp miles from nowhere in particular.

Yesterday we had our first taste of hills with 120km of rolling countryside. There are lots of woods, forests and tree-lined sections of the road as well as meadows, crops and villages. Locals seem to like a beer for breakfast and the place we stopped in before 8 yesterday morning thankfully served coffee as well, and we were able to take pictures of ourselves with the stuffed fox and hedgehog as we danced around the bar in time to some Lithuanian hoe-down tunes.

Stork and cow enjoying rich pasture
We have also come to the land of the cow, a rare sighing in Russia, Estonia or Latvia. Here however cows abound and it is lovely to see them being milked first thing - in the paddock - by the woman of the house. Also goats, dogs of course although they are getting smaller as we go, geese, chooks and cats. Harvest is earlier than in the other two Baltic countries, as we ride by fields of corn, ripe crops and the onions ready to pull.

The storks are also larger and more abundant than ever. Usually there are one or two chicks in a nest. In a marshy place where frogs must be plentiful we saw four young in a nest tapping their beaks until mum or dad stuffed something in. Two nights ago at the bush camp, Michael described the stork nesting near his tent, when launching into the air as being similar to being taken by a pterodactyl. I know they are a bit behind in Perth but I was stunned to think that they still have pterodactyls. I like my fellow Aussies though, they ride like the wind and are usually at our destination before our tardy group has cleaned their teeth. Michael presented me with a product called 'Silence' when I stumbled up the stairs to my room yesterday, a sweating pulsating lump of flesh demanding shower, beer and food in that order. It is a cunning spray that is meant to suppress snoring. I was touched.

For the linguistically interested, 'achoo' means thankyou and 'labas' is a universal greeting. Despite how the ladies feel at the end of a riding day, it does not refer to certain parts of the anatomy which may or may not be lacerated from hours in the saddle under a sweltering sun.

There was a religious pilgrimage that culminated in this city last night. When our group rode in over the bridge trying not to get chain grease on the bride's dress as she and her husband locked a padlock to the ironwork and threw the keys into the river, we noted much clapping and cheering. Of course we imagined it was a welcoming party for the participants in the Tour de Lithuania, but instead it was mainly pimply faced buck-toothed youths who were beside themselves in ecstasy after having walked 260kms. As Rick from North Carolina said, try doing 1200 on a bike and at our age and see how willing you are to jump up and down and sing! I did get blessed twice on the forehead though as we pushed through a hymn singing crowd on the way to the supermarket to stock up on water.

There is a very funny local brochure for this city which describes restaurants as overpriced and under value, drivers as drunk and dangerous, and the small change in the currency as 'weightless, worthless and useless'. Obviously there is room for young spin doctors, or marketing graduates, to really try underselling the city.

Also as it is Sunday there is no laundry and no internet cafes open so I am using the terminal courtesy of the Ramada Inn. We are not staying here, the organisers instead preferring yet another bloody convent up the hill where there is no room to swing a cat between the beds which must have been constructed for mini nuns, not huge Lithuanians or for that matter, most normal-sized people. I hate to think how the chaps are faring - their legs must be hanging over the edge. And of course because we're in cheapskate accommodation, there is none of the luxuries I have been relying on to restock my toiletries. A few rumbles about the food - tasty and colourful although it is, it is devoid of solid cereal, juice and protein.

So until Poland, I will leave with lies, damned lies and statistics.

22nd  July to Birzai: 105km, 5hr 40min TITS, 18.3 average. Hot but okayish
23 July to Anyksciai: 118 km, 6hr 40min TITS, 17.6 average. Hot, gravel, especially the last 5km which was a killer - this is FU gravel as opposed to B Gravel, our own system of classification, where B = benign
24 July - Catherine's 38th birthday - to Vilnius: 123km, 7hrs TITS, average 17.1 - hot, hills, gravel, dust, pollen, a sick peloton member, vicious traffic, a potentially great ride spoilt the last 20km by asinine routing

Wednesday 21 July 2010

News from the Baltic - Issue 1

We are now in Latvia, Estonia passing by in a flurry of pine forests, blonde hair and rosy round cheeks. Yellow is a popular colour for farm houses in Estonia - it was blue in Russia - probably to make them stand out in the snow. I have been reliably informed it is also a bear's least favourite colour, and it seems to work, as we have not as yet seen any bears. Nor have we seen moose, deer, fox, beaver or any of the other animals that are meant to be lurking in the woods.

On crossing the border I converted my Kroones to chocolate and local liqueur. The chocolate's gone but I am still to share the grog with my fellow stout hearted riders in the 'Back Nine', as we are known. A formidable bunch including Kendy and Rick from North Carolina, Catherine from Ontario, Stewart from Poole, Bill from New York, Don from Echuca and Sally and Stella from Vancouver. The expertise includes a doctor of palaeontology, a professor in IT, a social research data analysis, a community worker, a nutritionist and a welder, so it's a wonder that we can agree on anything as simple as the route but so far we are managing. We have also begun to ride in a paceline which has helped drag all the newer riders along and helped us make okay times in the awful surface conditions and weather.
Stewart's always a good target

Stewart's stitches are out and his arm is in good shape. We have had no further drive by shootings.

Riga, like Tallin, sports an old city with quintessentially cute buildings, some brightly coloured and others decorated in a variety of styles including Baroque, Classical, Art Deco and original medieval, which surround a market square. In Riga there are amber sellers in abundance as well as the knitted and crocheted goods and it is quaint to see the stall holders while waiting for trade, ply their craft. At noon we went to an organ recital of Handel and Bach in Riga Cathedral. Very peaceful, as well as cool. The streets are cobbled and narrow, few cars allowed into the centre. I keep seeing reference to blackamoors and have discovered that in Riga, also a Hansa city, the Blackheads - a group of young unmarried merchants and sea captains - took as their patron saint a mythical moor, St Mauritius. The Hanseatic League was an economic alliance of trading cities which established a trading monopoly from the 13th through to the 17th centuries, according to Wikipedia.

I struck up a conversation today with two young men, one of whom is a graphic designer and the other a painter of Trompe d'Oeill throughout Europe on contract to the rich and famous. Both said living in Latvia was good now but could barely recall pre-1991, and relied on their parents' stories about the hardships endured under the USSR.

Our camp grounds have been very pleasant surprises, grassy and treed, even one with a swimming pool. Showers have been adequate, although the principle of temperature always dogs the last in: cold showers and warm beer. I chose a room and a beer on one evening - only $20AUD including a beer - and was very glad I did as it poured with rain as the lightning flashed. Dinner that evening was spent huddled under a picnic shelter.

The country rolls by in grassy splendour and sometimes we ride through birch or oak or pine forests. There is an abundance of water in Latvia in the form of lakes and streams - I stood and watched a young chap fly fishing in a lily filled stream the other morning. I have seen only one small mob of sheep, a couple of herds of cows and little else in the way of animals. I have smelt pigs and that lovely scent of silage on more than one occasion. Lots of hay has been made and awaits carting. Each house has its veggies and fruit trees and all look very healthy and lush. Flowers bloom in abundance and every house has a couple of pots of marigolds or petunias or the like at its entrance. Window boxes spill more flowers and then there are the beds filled with delphiniums, liliums, zinnias, roses and ground cover. As this area is covered in thick snow come winter they must work like the devil to have such splendid gardens.

Food - lots of pickled herrings, bland cheeses, mayonnaise salads, cold beetroot soup as well as hot borscht. I guess the tourist trade makes it hard to work out what is traditional food and what isn't but the supermarkets give some indication in their smallgoods and delicatessen sections. This morning for breakfast in the hotel I ate grated beetroot salad, a cabbage salad, cheese, egg salad, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes as well as tea and toast. I could have also had tomato, cucumber, little boys, cereal and sticky jams and pastries. Along the way we have been stopping to buy water and for those who prefer, ice cream and soft drinks. Coffee shops are hard to come by although we did find a gem right on the beach yesterday although getting stung by a wasp spoilt it a little.

There have been hundreds of stork sightings in Latvia. One even flew before us for two or three kilometres the other day, stopping every now and then as if leading us. They are nesting on chimneys, electricity poles, sunning themselves on hay bales and roofs and foraging in marshy ground to pick up the odd frog I suppose.

And so tomorrow we cross the border into Lithuania. I have too many Lats to convert to chocolate this time.

Statistics for those who are interested in such detail
17 July to Luhtre Talu: 94km, 19.2 average, 4hrs 50mins - hot and humid and relieved by a dip in the pool on arrival
18 July to Metsakula: 117km, 18.5 average, 6hrs 17mins hot and 35kms of dirt, gravel and sand
19 July to Limbazi: 120 km, 18.1 average, 6hrs 35mins hot and more dirt, corrugations, gravel and sand
20 July to Riga: 85km, 18.2 average, 4hrs 40mins of not so hot, busy busy roads after a pleasant dirt and gravel beginning

Friday 16 July 2010

Grinning Like a Shot Fox

Before I begin, those with animals may know of the tendency to anthropomorphise their pet into part of their family. As far as I know there is no word to describe a further step, that is making an inanimate object such as a bicycle into an animal. Therefore I have invented a new word: 'mammaliamorphise' which describes how my Trek 7.7 got to be the Silver Fox. Which brings me to the title of this post.

Day 1 - we are riding through Russia on the way to our bush/rough camp in the lee of a centuries old crumbling stone fort. It is hot, humid and heavily trafficked. I hear a loud noise - like no other I have heard before on a bike - but put it down to a car exhaust as I have just been overtaken by a dusty beaten up old Lada. Some time up the road I wait for the remainder of the 9 strong peloton I am riding with to catch up, and am amazed when Stewart rides up and says, 'I've been shot!'. There is a bandage around his left arm. Yes, folks, shot!

He seeks medical attention from Nini, a cycling psychiatrist, when we get to camp and the next day after we cross the border to Estonia he goes to hospital and is operated on to remove a ball bearing from his arm where it has lodged deep between bones.

Round about the same time I discover a bullet wound in the Fox, which, if the lunatics bearing arms had better aim, would have got me in the leg, knee or possibly lower abdomen. I consider myself very lucky. I am not sure how lucky the Silver Fox feels, now bearing a Russian dent for life.

As you can imagine we were all pretty pleased to leave Russia for one reason or another.

Estonian arcadian bliss
Estonia is more peaceful, agricultural and friendly. There is all the usual abandoned farm collectives we have come to expect from former USSR countries, but in this country the peasant farmers are not so poor or peasanty as their Russian cousins just across the border. Farm houses are neat and tidy surrounded by well-ordered wood stacks, pretty flower gardens and vegie plots. Chooks, ducks, Guinea fowl - you know the sort of thing - roam free clucking and grubbing on the verges. Broad acre farming is evident in abundance with canola, barley, oats and some wheat. No animals much although we have smelt penned pigs, not surprising as pork is meant to be the national dish.

Our camp grounds have been pleasant enough, all being beside water, so I can now say that I have swum in the Gulf of Finland, the Baltic and a lake somewhere in Estonia. My fellow riders are good fun in the main - lots of Canadians, a few Amercans and four Australians.The March flies, or horse flies, are vicious and most of us are covered in red welts from where they have feasted on us. Not attractive and very itchy.

Tallin sports a beautiful old city, colourful, cobbled and full of opportunities to spend up big on Baltic amber and the like. I am about to go on a bike tour of the city to find out more, apart from knowing that it is a Hansa city - refer to history for this one.

A boy indulges in pond fishing
Another rest day, another laundry. This time we are right on the money doing bulk delivery and pick up and next rest stop someone else will do it for me. My room mate complains that I snore, but what can I do? Beers are good, especially the local beer the colour of a red squirrel, one of which ran in front of me yesterday.

So here's the technicals:

11 July: 110km, 16.5 average, hot, shot and slow
12 July at Laagna: 100 km, 18.7 average, hot - not shot, and a lovely lake to swim in
13 July at Saka: 57 km, 18 average and the Gulf of Finland to swim in
14 July at Kasmu Bay: 110 km, 19 average, hot, rolling and fun

15 July at Tallin: 99 km, 18.7 average, hot with an almighty thunderstorm in sight of our hotel but not near enough to avoid a drenching which was pleasant relief against the heat.

Sunday 11 July 2010

From Russia with Love

...well, did you really expect any other title for this post?

St Petersburg is the most diverse European city I've ever visited. The plazas are grand, the facades grander and the people fiercely dour. That is until you try and say something haltingly in Russian, which for me is pretty easy as I only picked up four words, then their faces break into a smile that puts the heart at ease.

We rode today around some of the main sights taking in the grandeur and the colour. The city mimics Paris, London, Vienna, Munich, Prague and so on with decorative attention to architectural detail. The prospekts, or boulevards, are wide and tree-lined. There are grassy squares everywhere and blocks and blocks of apartments all cunningly designed around central courtyards. There seems to be a striking similarity between Tsars, Communists and oligarchs if building huge edifices is anything to go by.

Hot. The weather we have had has broken a 40 year record. I have almost expected to see bananas growing especially after seeing the performing monkeys. But the love affair with animals does not stop there: there are dogs of all shapes and sizes, but the best I have seen so far is the cat who came to the restaurant in its own carry basket a la Paris Hilton's dog, its cool young owners cooing over it endlessly.

Lots of Russian babes; lots of Baboushkas; lots of cigarettes and skinny malnourished people; heaps of money; why settle for a Merc when you can have a roll-top Rolls?

The River Nevsky, St Isaacs in the background
Tomorrow we pedal off for five days of camping before our rest day in Tallin. Apparently we will quickly pass from the cosmopolitan city to the rustic country side which Henry Gold (Tour d'Afrique owner) described as one of the poorest parts of modern Europe.

Friday 25 June 2010

Take Two

Anyone want to buy a beautiful white cro moly touring bike? I tried everything I could think of to make the white horse work except personal surgery, to me that is to add about 7cm to my frame, which is what it would have taken to make the bike fit me. So now I am the proud owner of a silver fox that is so new it squeaks.

But it could be worse. That lovely man John Ross fell off his bike and broke his collarbone so he's not coming at all. I almost fell off the silver fox in Sunday's rain as it slid and slipped into the city with me on top. I have now replaced the slicks with tyres more befitting a rider such as myself.

Only a few more sleeps to go and so much to do. Pack, for one thing. I imagine I've left it too late to drop 10kg before I take off, but if I concentrate on not eating and riding 23 hours out of every 24 I might make it.

P.S. added July 2: Or alternatively the wait for the Russian consulate to return my passport - I was past caring if it had a visa or not - could well have seen me lose massive amounts if it had gone on any longer. Seven days, the website states, but when you add the day it arrives and the day after the seven days is up between when they finish the visa and wait to post it and the fact they don't collect or send mail on Fridays, it is more likely to take triple the amount of days - that was my experience anyway. So be warned, should you wish to go to Russia, allow time. The feeling of panic was akin to that when you're dumped by someone you love, or at least think you love. Every conscious moment is filled with thoughts of 'what if'; appetite falls away to nothing; you want to ring friends and have them console you but know they will only say, 'I told you so'. So in the end I resorted to wine. At least I got to sleep. The handy Australia Post registered letter tracking service became my new best friend as I typed and re-typed the number hoping each time that the result would be different. And at 6am this morning, the result was different, hence proving wrong those amateur philosophers who claim that repetition with the expectation of a different result is the province of the mad.

Seems like I'm leaving just when things are getting interesting, like having our very first woman prime minister who's not afraid to take on Mr Rabbit. I would, however, be more inclined to be excited if I thought there was a chance of Australia adopting humane policy to deal with asylum seekers, a practical approach to reducing carbon emissions, spending up on building alternate technologies, installing water tanks everywhere there is a roof, re-instating our suspended anti-discrimination legislation, suspended to allow for the Northern Territory Emergency Response, and adopting a human rights charter. That should be enough on the list until I get home.

So farewell Australia. See you at the Grand Final.

Monday 8 February 2010

Getting ready

Another wheel-time adventure is unfolding for me, this time a ride from St Petersburg in Russia, through Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Slovenia and finishing in Venice in Italy.

I leave on July 6th, the ride begins on July 11th and I am due to arrive in Venice on August 21st.

Same tour group - umm, but at least the devil you know is better than a new one, or so popular wisdom has it.

And some of the same folks from the 2008 ride will be on this one too: Monique and George from Canada, who fell in love on the last ride; the lovely and inimitable John Ross, also from Canada; Stewart who pedals from Poole, UK; and Garis from Melbourne, who together with his special friend Bojana, will actually be living in Italy at the time the ride begins.

So far I have:
- bought a new bike - a white touring cro-molly number that I am learning to ride what with its drop bars and the prospect of cleats looming again;
- re-read Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky to set the scene for St Petersburg, but I have to say that it seemed much more interesting in first year uni than it did over January this year;
- purchased a bike bag on eBay that I am hoping will get under the radar of Qantas' new restrictive baggage allowances;
- booked my flights as a Qantas Frequent Flyer which is really damn exciting as it only cost $259.60 in taxes, but then again they should be paying me as it is a flight with a 34 hour duration;
- supported Maureen while she booked hers and Des' tickets, also on QFF, to Rome where I will meet them or in Split (Croatia) or somewhere, as they arrive the day before I reach Italian soil;
- thought about a training regime; and
- started to work again at RMIT to earn money to fund it all.

Welcome to my blog and reading about life on the road as it unfolds.